Disenchanted

Chapter 3: Frank’s POV
It was finally time for art, the best lesson of my day, apart from music of course. I play guitar, my guitar, a Les Paul that I named Pansy with silver sparkly stickers. She’s my baby, I can never love anything as much as I love Pansy; I can’t even love my mother as much as my guitar.

So anyways, art – it is my chance to see Gerard. He is always there. He is so good at drawing that the school let him completely focus on art, science and music. Music because he can sing, and oh my god can he sing. I’ve caught him singing in his and Mikey’s kitchen a few times – It’s funny when he focuses on a specific part of a song and forgets about the sandwich he is making.

I try to avoid the jocks walking down the hallway towards me. I put my head down, let my fringe fall in front of my face and drooped my shoulders, desperate not to make eye contact with any of them. I feel my hands clench into loose fists and grip the sleeves of my hoodie as I felt my cheeks start to burn under their heavy gazes.

It doesn’t do me much good.

“Hey, faggot.” One of them calls jeeringly.

I look up. I should not have looked up. I curse myself; there are so many other people in the hallway, I could have made it look as though I didn’t hear them or that I thought that they were talking to someone else. Why the fuck did I look up?

I know why. It’s because I know they were talking to me. They know I know and they all laugh spitefully.

“Answer me you little emo freak.” Death glare and spit in my face; today is just fucking peachy.

“wha-what d-do you w-want?” I stutter. I wish I didn’t show my fear so easily, or my embarrassment too for that matter. My cheeks are burning.

“I want your lunch money.” I almost laughed at the stereotypical school bully in front of me. That has got to be the weakest line I have ever heard in my entire sorry existence. Doesn’t he realise that I don’t eat lunch? I sure as hell don’t have any money for it.

“Hey Derek, we’re not in 5th grade any more. Go pick on someone your own size.” Again with the cheesy stereotypes. But it was the voice of an angel. I didn’t even need to look up to know who my saviour was. Relief crashed around me in waves and my knotted stomach loosened somewhat.

“Fuck off Way, what the hell do you care?”

This is the part where Gerard says he doesn’t care, and just lets them kick me into the lockers and leave me to try and pick myself up and stumble to the nurses office – a regular occurrence for me. My heart dropped further into the valleys of depression. I had a really itchy nose but I didn’t want to scratch it and draw attention to myself again.

The suspense was killing me.

“I care enough,” Oh my god “to know that terrorising sophomores is wrong” OH. anti-climax of the century. I thought that I might get a bit more than just “sophomore” but I guess my teenage mind was again expecting too much from Gerard.

By now the halls were nearly empty. I heard Derek crack his knuckles and take a step towards Gerard. Fuck I’m such a douche. I gulped silently, my itchy nose now all but forgotten. I have to do something.

“Don’t, Gerard.” I mumbled quietly but audibly. I knew it was stupid but I don’t want Gee to get hurt because I’m not cool enough to be able to scamper away without a beating every day. Everyone turned around slowly and looked at me as if I had just claimed I was a penguin in disguise (I certainly had the social awkwardness down to an art.)

“Ooohh no! Please don’t hurt me!” The jock, Derek mocked me. He probably thought I was going to try and protect Gerard... I wasn’t. Derek’s gang all laughed along with him because they’re all as stupid as each other.

I looked up at Gerard to see if he was laughing too, but he wasn’t. However I still felt equally shit as I saw the pity evident in his beautiful eyes. I couldn’t take this, not pity.

I ran as fast as I could in the opposite direction, towards the art rooms. I burst into the classroom shaking and sweating in fear and rage. I grabbed my sketch book and nearly dropped it my hands were shaking so much. I took a breather, counted to ten then went to get my stool and sit at my usual desk – the furthest away from the teacher.

“Hey, Frankie is it? Are you okay?” No one had called me Frankie in years – my mum stopped using it when she became a drunken slut. I couldn’t find a voice to answer the question so I just shook my head and let my tears of frustration drip onto the cover of my sketchbook.

I felt someone’s arms wrap around my pathetic body and stiffened immediately, not realise that anyone could give any affection to me of all people.

“It’s okay.” Came a whisper in my ear. It was a girls voice, unfamiliar yet comforting, alien yet motherly - something I hadn't heard in years. This made me relax into the embrace. After A few minutes I wiped my nose on my sleeve and sniffed as I pulled away.

I looked up into the face of Alicia... fair enough.

“Yeah it’s Frankie, and... and not really.” I managed to choke out in that gasping post-cry voice. Oh god, what was she going to think? What was she going to say to her friends? No, wait... she was never with anyone. I guess it was safe to talk to her.

I looked into her eyes and found no pity, just empathy and true concern. For that I was grateful.

“Well, I’m here if you want to talk about anything.” She gave me a reassuring smile and I returned it through my drying tears.

She’d be great with Mikey.

“Could, could y-you maybe-e take m-my mind off of things? W-we could talk-k about Mikey?” her mouth opened a little; watching her blush really cheered me up for some reason. It’s her turn to stutter.

“S-sure, if you want t-to,” she gushed excitedly. This was gonna be reeeaaalll good fun.

I got so absorbed into our conversation I didn’t even notice Gerard come back into the room, sporting a bruised hand and a split lip.